


Confessional

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Past Rape/Non-con, Priest Kink, Smut, Uncle/Niece Incest, Underage Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29419035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Someone named after a whore could never be a saint.
Relationships: Mary White/Father Theodore, Mary White/Jack White, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 8
Collections: Anonymous





	Confessional

**Author's Note:**

> set in late 1950s to early 1960s, but i couldnt find a good way to actually include that. anyway this was an exercise in smut that got dark fast (which is why it's anonymous lmao)

Good girls don't skip school. Good thing Mary isn't a good one, then. She saunters into the small church like a devil, with slow steps and swaying hips.

The grandmothers, who are most certainly as horny for the young priest as Mary is, glare at her. She sticks her tongue out, an act too childish for her seventeen years, but Mary thinks she can do it. After all, the priest is closer to her age than of those women; why wouldn't he prefer sweet Mary, with her flushed cheeks and pretty face?

_ Because you are a slut _ , the devil whispered in her ear,  _ because you taint all men that come near you _ . Mary ignored it. 

The priest was in confessionals, that little closet where darkness as inky black as her hair made her feel sticky and childish, but she needed that. The closet was home.

She knocked on the door politely. No sounds came from the inside, so she opened the door, the church lights illuminating the well-used red pillow for kneelers, the latticework hiding Father Theodore, only a shadow of the man visible. 

Father Theodore was new to their church; after Father Frederick had died, the entire community had expected Father Lewis, from the town over, to become their new priest. Instead, Father Theodore, young and angelic, caused an uproar amongst the faithful. He was handsome, unmarred by war, with a simple smile that enchanted those who saw him.

Mary had set her sights in corrupting him from the first time she had set her eyes on him. She locked the door behind her, trying to get as much time as possible between her and the man of God.

"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned." She started, kneeling, hands not clasped in prayer; instead, one held onto the lattice screen, the other expertly diving beneath the elastic waistband of her skirt, past her panties, going straight to playing with her clit, just to get her going nice and wet. Her voice was not more than a whisper, even though the confessional booth was completely soundproof. Still, she didn't want those hags outside listening in on her private fun. Licking dry lips, Mary continued. "Its been three months since my last confession."

Three months. That was a lie. Her last confession had been when her mother had died, and she had to shake off the guilt of wishing she'd die.

How long ago had that been? Six years? Six long years since men started putting their hands up her skirts? Six years since she had gone from Mary to Magdalene?

"You must have a lot on your mind, then." The priest replied, kind, soft.

The tone disgusted her: she had too many jagged edges for Mary to think softness was just not a preamble to being degraded.

"I do." She did not. This was all being so carefully arranged; all she wanted was to take a rise out of him, to make his kind blue eyes look at Mary with disgust she deserved. "I'm even cutting class because it bothered me so much."

"All sins, from small to big, are forgivable in the eyes of God." Was what she was about to do able to garnish her forgiveness, though? Mary was not one for it, her soul too stained to be cleansed by a priest.

There was a stickiness to her skin. Mary ignored it.

"I had a dream tonight. A  _ bad  _ dream, father." She started slowly. A smile was on her face. She hoped the priest couldn't see it.

* * *

In her dream, she was entering church, this time empty. The statues of saints stared at her as she walked, almost floating, between the pews.

In the altar, father Theodore, sitting like a God in his golden throne, and she a mere sacrifice for slaughter. With a sudden start, as she approached, Mary realized the nakedness of her body, the red paint adorning her bare skin like jewelry.

The priest's eyes did not leave her; in fact, they roamed her body, lust-filled. He was dressed beautifully, like a fallen angel in white robes and jewelry.

* * *

"Why are you telling me this?" His voice was hoarse; had her mere suggestion of a naked body troubled him so?

_ You're telling him because you want to see him moan, don't you? _ , the devil in her ear whispered. Mary agreed with him, for once. She wanted to see him squirm, wanted him to hate her at the end of this game.

"If I don't speak everything, father, is it even a full confession?" Mary shot back. The man behind the lattice screen gave a heavy sigh. "May I continue?"

"Yes." There was a promising heaviness to his voice. Mary continued her tale.

* * *

Mary persevered, walked the steps to the altar. The carpet felt plush against her bare toes, and when she was a foot away from him, Mary curtsied. She looked at him through dark eyelashes, and the priest motioned for her to come closer. Mary, at this, cocked her head; the only place closer was his lap, which he tapped twice, inviting, and she sat there. Father Theodore held her hips with his hands, and the lust in his blue eyes grew. She could feel an erection against her pussy, and she grinded against it almost instinctively. He said nothing, simply kissing her in a lust-frenzied manner, lips crashing against her, tongue and teeth and hands on her skin, digging, bruising.

He let go of her when her head felt empty of air, dizzy and seeing stars. His fingers still on her skin, he gently dropped her to the ground, rising up. His white cassock fell to the ground like a snake shedding its skin, revealing a glorious naked body. He sat down once more, his erection jutting out, and Mary, kneeling, palmed his cock, feeling the hardness, warm and unfamiliar as her fingers closed around it.

He let out a moan, bitten back and throaty, and Mary grinned. With one hand she started jerking him off, gently, almost, watching as he gave out small moans. Mary picked up speed as she saw pre cum drip from the tip of his cock, leaning her head to lick it off. It tasted salty, and Father Theodore mewled like an animal in heat, which made her open her mouth and started to slowly take him in her mouth, bobbing her head up and down gently, her hands gripping his thighs.

He came soon after, thick, coating her mouth in white. She swallowed dutifully, looking up at him, and he patted her dark hair.

“Good girl.” He muttered, and Mary glowered under praise. Once more, he patted his lap. “You deserve a reward. Come here, child.”

She, a good girl - something anyone rarely, if ever, called her -, obeyed, climbing onto his lap, but clearly not as fast as he would’ve liked: he grabbed her like a doll, lined up his cock to her entrance, and without even giving her an extra moment to prepare, rammed himself inside her. Mary let out a strangled cry, feeling herself impaled in the thick cock, and he didn’t give her even a moment to breathe before he rose her, and then once more let her fall, repeating the pattern until something akin to pleasure came to her.

* * *

“Why are you….” The father started. Mary gripped the latticework, feeling wetness drip down her thighs, sticking them together, and she started pressing them together, moving like the bitch in heat she was. The entire confessional smelled like sex, and she heard ruffling of clothes from the other side.

“You can touch yourself to this, Father. I won’t tell.” Mary murmured, sickeningly sweet. “After all, who would believe me over you?”

There was a grunt, the sound of flesh against flesh. She smiled. Was her plan working?

“Bet you wish I was there on the other side, huh? Really sucking you off.” Mary kept her voice low, only for Father Theodore’s ears, and her reward was a muffled moan, as if he was biting down his fist to avoid making noise. Mary inserting one finger inside herself, trying to get any sort of relief. How she wished it could’ve been a cock, instead of having to satisfy herself. “It’s not godly, I bet, but you could fuck me too. Have you ever fucked someone, Father?”

“Are you a devil, come to tempt me?” He managed, breathy. 

"Not only a devil, father." She rested her forehead against the lattice screen, putting another finger inside and starting to piston faster, pressing the ball of her hand against her clit. "I'm Lucifer herself."

She heard the soft moan he gave, cum splattering against the ground - and that managed to top her right over the edge as well, cumming in almost synchrony.

"So you like that, father?" Mary taunted, and there was silence. "Am I forgiven?"

"Pray three pater nostrums, one act of contrition and get out." There was an icy edge to his voice that sent a thrill down her spine. She took the fingers out of herself, licked them clean of her own wetness, and mumbled her way through half-forgotten prayers before unlocking the door and going out skipping her steps, humming a song whose name she couldn't remember.

The grandmothers were not there. Mary paused at the altar candles, staring at the fire. She made a move for one of the big ones, wetting her fingers to start pinching people's prayers, when a heavy hand stopped her, fingers curling against her wrist.

She looked up: Father Theodore, face flushed, glared at her.

_ Another one to your net of hatred,  _ whispered the devil.

"You're one of the regular parishioners." He started, slowly, as if weaving the words together with care. "The White girl."

"Everyone calls me Black Mary, Father." Mary replied with a smile. She hated the nickname, the eyes, the people whispering that the only white in her was the surname, that the rest of her was as black and tarnished as sin, but they had a point. "Is anything the matter?"

"Why did you do that?" He was squirming under her gaze, which Mary found hilarious: a grown man, a man of God, trembling in the presence of a girl. Hah! How funny.

_ To make sure you didn't try to help me. _

"Don't you ever get bored?" Mary replied, instead. “I mean, doesn’t making the priest hot and bothered sound like a perfect excuse to spend an afternoon?”

He had no answer for that. Mary leaned in, puffing out her chest a little. He gave it a passing glance before returning his eyes to her face.

"I mean, if you didn't like it, Father, I can make up a new story. Or maybe we could make that one a reality in your bed. Bet you'd like arriving from mass to me on all fours and naked, yeah?" Even the mere suggestion of that was making her wet again, Mary's imagination already proposing more and more scenarios.

Shit, maybe she had something for men in cassocks; the idea of corrupting one and becoming their little plaything was so hot.

“I’ve seen the way you pray.” He said, deflecting the subject, and Mary squinted her eyes at him. “I’ve seen you come after mass starts and leave before it ends, I’ve seen your fervor. So why?”

Rage filled her head. How dare he - she was the only one supposed to be playing games in here. She pulled her wrist out of Father Theodore’s hand, holding it as if it was burnt by his holy touch. 

"None of your fucking business." She spat, before leaving.

* * *

The walk home was always the worst, the stickiness on her tights drying, her stomach roiling with nausea.

Six years ago, she and her mother had a fight. Mary couldn't even remember what it had been about: all she remembered was yelling  _ I hate you, I wish you were dead so uncle Jack could be my dad! _ before locking herself in her room and sobbing herself to sleep. 

She had woken up to her mother hanging from the lamp in her room, a suicide note directed to her that simply said, in a neat calligraphy,  _ I hope you are happy now. _

Mary remembered little the subsequent days. Her next memory was sitting in her uncle's house in the dark as he put his hands up her skirt and fingered her into several orgasms, Mary too scared to say something. When she had been too tired to even move, to even moan, he had climbed upon her and took her virginity.

That had been the beginning of her descent: he had whored her out, from the shadows, to his friends, to his coworkers, making it seem like she had been the one seeking out these men old enough to be her father. 

Everyone knew of it: the women these men were married to just refused to blame their husbands, instead piling the guilt onto Mary.

It was her fault, obviously. If she hadn't said that to her mother, maybe she could have avoided that path - maybe. After all, someone named after a whore could never be a saint.

Her uncle was not home when she arrived; a glance at the clock told Mary there were still two hours for that, so instead she took off her panties, cleaned the house and prepared dinner.

At 6 and a half on the dot, her uncle arrived. For a man on his 40s, he still looked good, slick black hair and suit always perfectly ironed, eyes jovial and smiling, the model man of the community. Of course, even she knew the devil presented itself as a good man, handsome and angelic. 

That was outside. Inside the four walls of the house he shared with Mary, his eyes were filled with nothing but lust.

"Mary, sweetheart, I'm home!" He announced, and Mary, putting the plates on the table, said nothing. She could hear his steps on the wooden floor, and a moment after, as she adjusted the forks, could feel his hands flipping her skirt, revealing her bare bottom. His hand rested on her ass. "Is my baby girl hungry?"

"Yes, uncle." Mary replied, turning her head with a smile on her face. "Dinner is ready, but so am I. Which would you like?"

She had already eaten. Her uncle liked to eat alone, with her on her knees, watching, sometimes - if she behaved - eating little bites out of his hand.

He took off his tie, sat down, seemed to chew over it. In front of him, the food wafted a delicious smell, creamy stew just waiting for someone to eat it.

"Serve me my meal and then warm me up, baby." He said, a smile like the devil's stamped in his mouth. "If you're good enough, then maybe I can fuck you."

Mary smiled, obeyed his order, and then crawled under the table. She opened his zipper, his soft cock flopping out. She took him all in his mouth, and closed her eyes. The darkness was home.

This was her place on Earth. This was what Mary deserved - and she didn't need the devil in her ear to tell her as much.


End file.
